


The Last Rose of Summer

by tangerinabina_de_archanea



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: BEASTIE FELIX, Beauty and the Beast AU, Chivalry-Caused Angst, F/M, Fantastical Felannie Week 2020, Getting Together, HE IS FUZZY, Mild Blood, Mild Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerinabina_de_archanea/pseuds/tangerinabina_de_archanea
Summary: 'Tis the last rose of summer,Left blooming alone;All her lovely companionsAre faded and gone;No flower of her kindred,No rose-bud is nigh,To reflect back her blushesTo give sigh for sigh!While searching for her father, Annette stumbles upon an enchanted castle guarding secrets... and a beast.Written for Fantastical Felannie Week 2020, Day 3: rose/books/curse.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anthiese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthiese/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this fic to the lovely @anthiese, who is a wonderful friend and an inspirational writer. If you want some more amazing netteflix go read her fics "Old ones", "Keep it in the family", and "hum of night", which are all AMAZING. 
> 
> For this fic I tried to stay more faithful to the original tale from The Blue Fairy Book, but I did include some elements of the Disney version because like the rose representing the progression of the curse? PEAK AESTHETIC

Once upon a time, in the far away land of Fodlan, a kingdom was at war against a powerful witch. Every person who could be spared was sent out to battle, and while many returned home safely to the arms of their loved ones, there were many who did not. One such soldier was Gustave Dominic, a noble of the land and one of the king’s most trusted aides. Each day his wife waited for her husband’s return, and yet as days stretched into weeks and weeks into months, her hope grew thin, and so she drew a widow’s mourning shroud about herself and fell into despair.

Her daughter, however, ever the optimist, was determined to not give up hope. She was certain that her father would one day return of his own accord, and if he did not, then she would go and bring him back herself. Thus, after a year and a day of waiting, Annette Fantine Dominic packed what possessions and provisions she could carry, and set out to find Gustave.

She planned first to head to the capital city, to demand her father’s whereabouts from the king himself if she had to. However, the hounds of winter were howling upon the mountains of Fodlan, shaking snow from the sky with every sound. The journey through the mountains grew difficult, cold, and long, and she grew bitter with fatigue and hunger. At length a path appeared, clearer than the others and somehow untouched by snow, and in desperation she followed it, hoping to find a village or a home at the end.

Instead she found a dark castle at the end of a stone path lined by blossoming orange trees, their scent clear and fresh even in the cold winter air. Consumed with curiosity, she urged her horse forward, and yet the closer she drew, the more the castle fell into disrepair. Still, something strange permeated the air, a sizzle that woke her numb fingers and toes for a few seconds before dissipating, and made her hair stand on end. It was unmistakably magic.

The castle seemed to be abandoned, yet must have been splendid once in its earlier days, when people were bustling about and its master was home. This being so, she did not think twice about leading her horse inside with her for protection from the cold. Strangely, a grand fireplace in the entryway, framed by two ascending staircases on either side, was lit and blazing bright. Her voice echoed as she called out for someone, anyone, who lived in this desolate place, and yet received no answer. Too exhausted to further question this strange happening, she laid herself by the fire and slept deeply.

In the morning she woke to a meal of tough meat and stale bread, but with sweet oranges beside. In her hunger even these meager portions seemed to be fit for royalty, and so she eagerly ate her fill, pausing only moments to wonder who had left this for her. Her horse was nowhere to be seen, and so she sought him out first; after travelling through vast yet dark galleries, libraries, and servant’s quarters, she found herself in a beautiful garden, with more orange trees and blossoming roses. Beside the garden she found a stable, where her horse was being comfortably kept, covered by a blanket and fed with fine oats and grains. The air was both cold and warm, as if the warmth was but a trick of the light, and she shivered slightly as she again wondered who their mysterious benefactor was.

Her horse now confirmed to be safe, she wandered the gardens longer, finding the air refreshing and the plants calming. In the center of the vast garden was a long path, and at the end of it blossomed a single rose, the largest of the garden, brilliant in its beauty and red as blood. Entranced by it, she reached out to touch the flower, but was pricked by the thorns instead, and its petals dripped down her finger.

“What are you doing?” a voice demanded, more animal than man, and she shrieked, jumping backwards and colliding with something large and undoubtedly living.

“Sorry! I did not mean to…” Words escaped her as she turned and saw a mighty beast standing behind her, with the head of a wolf, the horns of a ram, the haunches and tail of a lion, but the body of a man, hunched yet nearly twice her height. Crying out in terror, she fled from the garden and the castle’s grounds, only to find herself suddenly in winter’s icy grip again among the mountains and bare trees. Still she pressed on, until the cold became too much for her to bear, and she collapsed in the glittering snow.


	2. Chapter 2

When Annette woke, feeling completely refreshed, it was in a comfortable bed, in a splendid room filled with flowers, golden ornaments, and fine linens. There was no one in the room with her, and yet a hearty breakfast, much better than the fare by the fire, was laid out on a table. She was hesitant to rise, for she feared the beast she had seen in the garden, and yet she was also hungry. Carefully and quietly as a mouse, she crept over to the table to eat her fill and then some, anxiously wondering if the beast would return between bites, and then wondering during bites if the beast had been the one who made this food. It was certainly better than last night, but still had the same quality that food does when one who is ill-prepared and awkward in the kitchen tries to cook. It was similar to her own cooking, really, and it almost made her feel at home, but still she took pause. What if the beast was only feeding her to fatten her up, so that he could eat her? What if he was not the only beast in this castle, and she would find more lurking outside her door, ready to nibble her flesh as they pleased?

Even so, she felt more confident with a full belly, and so she wandered the castle, seeking both her monstrous host and a path out. Each room and hall seemed vaster and stranger than the next, with familiar features distorting, floors lengthening, and walls rising the more she walked.The largest hall by far was a portrait gallery, filled with dark paintings depicting hunts and beasts and assorted monsters that chilled her to the bone. The largest painting, whose eyes seemed to follow her, was what appeared to be a splendid, yet somehow unsettling, family portrait. A proud father stood next to a chair in which was seated the mother, her face unintelligible in the shadows except for her amber eyes, burning like embers. Standing to the right of the father was a young man, presumably one of their sons, the serene smile on his face looking unnatural, as if the painter had struggled to imagine how he might smile. In front of him was a smaller boy, but instead of a face there were three long gashes in the canvas, and if she did not know better, she would have thought they were bleeding crimson. Each and every one of their eyes gazed down upon her from their gilded frame, as if in judgement, and she hurried away from it as quickly as her feet would carry her.

Before exiting the gallery, she turned yet again to face the portrait, and found not men but beasts in the frame. The mother was gone, and the child fully covered by a shiny, dark liquid that had spilled forth from the gashes in the canvas. 

Horrified, she fled, and found herself within the bedroom she had woken in before a distant clock struck noon. Within the room she found fare similar to that of breakfast, and smiled a little to herself. Her host did not seem to have a grasp of many recipes. It was perhaps unsurprising for a beast, but amusing all the same. It was something she could empathise with.

Her dinner passed quickly, which was a strange sensation; she was so inclined to chatter at the table that meals could last close to an hour on occasion. She much preferred the company while she ate. Even so, she was too fearful to call out to her host, and so she ate in silence.

Following dinner she once again explored the castle, less fearful now that she was slightly more accustomed to its strange nature. As evening drew closer she found herself within a vast library, filled to the brim with beautiful books on all manner of topics, from sorcery to romance to history to gardening. After lighting the logs left to rot in the hearth with a small flame spell, she curled up with a rare book of sorcery, and after many hours fell into a deep slumber. When she woke again there was food for supper at her side, and again she ate her fill, and then returned to her room to retire for the night.

When she woke the next morning and ate breakfast (again much improved on previous meals, except for the slightly burnt meat), she felt revitalized and much less fearful of the task at hand. This castle was clearly enchanted, and all that mattered now was discovering what sort of enchantment it was in the thrall of. If she could discover that, then she could tame it to her will and find her way out. Even so, she was unsure if traveling further through the mountains was an altogether practical idea, for outside the castle’s many windows a continual snow storm raged on and on, howling through the air as wolves on a hunt. Her host, however, even despite his kindness, still gave her pause; his intentions were unclear at best and terrifying at worst.

To calm her nerves she danced and sang as she explored, her voice ringing through the halls ahead of her as if it could clear the air entirely of fear. In truth, she did not feel much fear when she sang, especially given the subject matter of her music; she was much too focused on the cakes and steaks and crumbs and yums that she was describing to give the glaring portraits she passed a second glance. The castle almost seemed lighter as she sang, and she was glad for it, so she raised her voice higher. By the time hunger struck her, she was no closer to finding an exit, and so she returned to her room, her spirits weighing a little heavier than they had that morning.

Upon the table was exactly what she had been singing about, stacks of steaks and sweet orange cakes. This was blatant mockery, to be certain, and she fumed about it even as she ate. Not only had the beast heard her sing, which was embarrassing enough on its own, but he had seen fit to let her know by serving these to her! The steaks were much improved from earlier, but the cake was dry and overly sweet. If she had been less upset she would have perhaps excused it as a lack of practice with making sweets, but in her current state she took that as simply another twist of the knife. The very nerve of this beast!

After finishing her dinner, she went out and stood in the hall, summoning all the courage that she was able to. “Beast!” she cried out. “Quit your hiding! Come and face me!” Silence reigned within the castle as the echoes faded, and so she decided to seek him out, shouting the whole while. “Beast! I am not afraid of you! Come and face me!”

Soon enough she found herself in the garden again, surrounded by flowers and sunlight as she had been previously, but with a wall higher than three men were tall, with snow beyond it, raging and howling. The beast either had not heard her cries or refused to respond, and so she threw herself onto a stone bench with a sigh and a frown. One last time, she repeated her call. “Beast! Come out and face me!”

As if by magic, the beast appeared before her, slinking on all fours as an animal from behind a bush of roses. He regarded her more warily than expected as he sat across the path from her, prey rather than the hunter. “What do you want?”

“You are  _ evil _ , through and through!” She hurriedly stood, holding her head high and throwing her shoulders back so as to seem more confident than she felt.

“And you are shouting. What for? You are not the first to come to this conclusion, but I have to ask why.”

“You heard me singing today, and you mocked me!”

The beast cocked his head in confusion. “Did I?”

“You did! You spied upon me, and then you further insulted me! I do not know what your true intentions are, nor whether you plan to eat me or not, but  _ this _ I will not stand for! I could die of embarrassment…”

“I did not want to show myself, considering how you acted last time.” He rose, pacing back and forth. “By the way, I wanted to ask about your dancing. It reminded me of fencing moves.”

“Forget everything that you saw!”

“I am afraid that I cannot. I am sure that I will remember it until the day my mind utterly fails me.” There was a wistful, almost despairing tone as his words ended, and if she were not so distressed it would have tugged keenly at her heartstrings.

“Fiend! Villain! Do you always toy with your food before gobbling it up? I am sure you will be telling everyone else that you can about this, to embarrass me further!”

“There is no one to tell but the creatures of the woods.”

“Then do not breathe of it to even a single squirrel!”

“I do not know any squirrels, nor can I talk to them.”

She did not seem to hear. “Fine! Tell all of your beastly friends! Humiliate me before you kill me!”

“Where on earth did you get the idea that I was planning on killing you?”

“You are the most wicked of all creatures I have ever met!” Saying this, she fled back to her room and threw herself on the bed with a sob. The beast watched her leave in confusion, and then, with a great shake of his head, laid himself down in the garden near the largest rose with a sigh so deep it could move mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was trying to merge fairy tale prose and speech with their regular way of speaking.... hopefully it worked. Thank u so much to Sarah for helping me figure out how to reconcile it! <3


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning when Annette woke, she was famished, for she had had no supper the previous night. Food was more bountiful than usual for her breakfast, but with a noticeable omission of any steaks and cakes. Perhaps she had been unfair to the beast the day before, but after all, what else did great hairy beasts do besides eat fair maidens? Even if he was a beast, she still felt the hot coals of embarrassment burning in her belly and the even more heated eyes of judgement upon her. She had felt that heat all her life from her father, and yet it burned just as fiercely in the eyes of a strange beast. Even so, he had seemed perplexed at her words, and she resolved to speak with him more calmly.

After breakfast she returned to the garden and sat in gentle silence, awaiting his return. Return he did, padding softly around the beds of fragrant flowers and gazing at her as warily as the day before.

“You have returned,” he remarked, and settled down to lick his paw.

“I have. I want to know what you are planning for me.”

“If I had any plans, why would I tell you what they are?”

“So you do not?”

“No. I do not.”

“Then why do you hold me prisoner?”

The beast snorted in disgust. “You are not my prisoner. You entered my castle of your own free will, and also ran directly into a blizzard of your own free will, I might add. I saved your life.”

“And yet your castle is ever-changing, and I cannot leave.”

“The castle obeys no will but its own. I have no control over it. Still, you are free to go if you are able to find your way out. I will not disturb you.” 

“What?”

“I am just as much a prisoner as you are, if not more so. It is but a small part of the curse that keeps me here. Even if I were to escape, where could I go? In this form I would be slaughtered as quickly as any other animal.” 

“You speak as if this is not your true form, nor the castle’s true form. Are you truly cursed?”

“I am, and that is all you need know of it.” Suddenly he rose. “I will not eat you. I feed you not to make you a better meal, but to retain even a small measure of my humanity. That is all.”

“Wait. Before you go, please, tell me, what is your name?”

The beast paused, his head lowered and his ears drooping. “I have no name,” he said mournfully. “I am a beast, not a man, and what creature can ever speak their true name?”

“I think you are being silly. I shall have to call you something. Since you will not give me your name, I shall call you Beastie, and that is that.”

“Surely you jest.”

“I surely do not, Beastie.”

His response was a sound both exasperated and amused, and the beast left as silently as he had come. The beast did not seem so cruel as she assumed, and his words rang with truth rather than dripping with falsehood. She had judged him too harshly, to be sure, and perhaps… If she could not escape this ever-changing labyrinth easily, then perhaps, in the meantime, they could be friends, or at the very least acquaintances. She already felt dreadfully lonely after only a few days, and she was sure that he must feel the same, if he had been there much longer than she. And perhaps if they were friends he would do her the kindness of forgetting about her singing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well i found out about this week on Wednesday and optimistically hoped I'd have this done by today but alas sdlkfjdsf schoolwork kicked my butt. Hopefully I'll be able to finish it in the next coming days!


	4. Chapter 4

Annette and the beast settled into an easy pattern, one that was somewhere in between friendship and simply familiarity. When she woke, a solitary breakfast no longer waited for her; rather, she would rise, dress herself, and then journey to the kitchen, one of the few rooms in the castle that was reliable in its location. He had been surprised when she first offered her aid in preparing each meal, if not a little disgruntled by the messes she tended to make while attempting to cook, but as time progressed, her clumsiness lessened, his demeanor softened, and the food improved. When the meal was done, his always cooked slightly less thoroughly than hers, they would repair to the closest hall they could find, some magnificently decorated and others in disrepair, to dine. During their meals he made little to no conversation of his own, whilst she found endless subjects to discuss, from magic to melodies to a possible path out of the castle. They shared all their meals in much the same manner, and their days were spent apart, but as time wore on he more frequently joined her in her explorations, again mostly silent. Each day she explored further, and yet was no closer to finding an exit. 

On days when she grew weary of attempting to navigate the castle’s constant transformations, she retired to the library, humming to herself as she flitted between books as a songbird in flight, her fingers flirting with the spines, and then singing aloud as she tidied up each day’s messes. In the beginning, the beast almost never accompanied her in the library, for he said that it made him feel as if the bars of his cage were constricting ever more tightly upon him, and so she was free to be as loud as she wished and sang without fear of embarrassment. 

However, as the hands of time spun ever forward, he seemed to be increasingly drawn to her. Many days he joined her unexpectedly, most often introducing himself with a comment upon her lyrics or a request for a different song. It embarrassed her, just as it had before, and yet she found herself less and less reluctant to refuse both his requests and his questions. Oddly enough, he continued this pattern of dwelling in the library more and more frequently, even when being vocal about how it curdled his blood and made his skin crawl as if he were coated not in fur, but in the shiny insects that hummed about the garden in summertime.

The beast was kinder by the day as well, she noted, and she felt warmth blossom within her as a flower unfurling its petals to face the sun during his visits. It was a lovely feeling, much preferable to fear, and she privately decided that perhaps she and her dear Beastie were friends, after all. 

* * *

One day, to her surprise, he began the conversation at supper. 

“Why did you come here? In the beginning?”

The sudden appearance of his voice shocked her, but she soothed her nerves as quickly as she could. It was unlike him to pose questions of his own beyond her singing and dancing, or encouragement in her chosen topic. “I was searching for my father. He was in the king’s service in the war, and has not yet returned home. I was journeying to ask the king himself about my father’s whereabouts when I came upon your castle.” It was strange, she realized, that they had not yet spoken of this, and yet not unsurprising, when she dwelled upon it further. She disliked speaking of her father, and so she avoided the topic, and he had not yet asked about her family.

His response was as harsh and biting as the winter outside. “You should not have bothered. The king will not remember him.”

“He was one of his most trusted confidants. Surely the king will remember.” She stabbed the meat upon her plate more fiercely than intended, feeling anger rise within her. What could a beast know of the affairs of men?

“No, he was not. That is what the king told him, and what he told you in turn, but that is not the case.” He rose from his chair, paws crossed behind his back as he paced. “Every man in service to the king, whether he be a general or a mere footsoldier, is nothing more than a pawn to be sent out to die a  _ glorious _ death upon the battlefield.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, and for some reason it brought forth the image of the bleeding painting in Annette’s mind. “To the king, a soldier, no matter the rank, has neither name nor face. All he has are hands to kill and a heart to be run through when he is no longer useful.”

“That is horrible!” She slammed her palms down upon the table. “How could you say such a terrible thing?”

“Because it is the truth of war!” The beast’s voice rose almost to a howl, his fists meeting the table as hers had. She had never seen him so furious. “Knights are nothing but pretty baubles to a king, one identical to the other, to be smashed and then lamented only when it is convenient! They are nameless beasts who choke upon their own blood! They are declared heroes who gave their lives in service of something greater, not what they truly are: sacrifices demanded in the name of chivalry!” He fairly spat out the final word, as if it was something both distasteful and poisonous. “Your father is gone, and his king will not remember him.”

“You know nothing!” She fled from the dining hall, tears in her eyes, and went to the first room she could find solitude in. Seating herself on a wide window sill, she looked out upon the darkness below, so great and terrible that it seemed that it might swallow her up at any moment.

She was unsure how long she wept when she found herself no longer alone. The creak of the door was not unwelcome, and yet she still turned away, drawing her shawl more tightly around her.

“I lost family to war, as well.” His tone was more hushed, but still trembling with rage. “My brother was the first, and my father… He told me that he died ‘in glorious service to the king.’” He grew even more quiet, his voice so much smaller than the form that imprisoned it. “It was as if he hardly cared that his son was dead.”

“I am sorry.”

His eyes mournful, he lifted his head. “I did not tell you this to earn your pity. I told you so that you could understand for yourself the truth of those who stake their lives on chivalry.” Still she would not turn towards him, and he sighed heavily. “I should apologize, I suppose.”

“You should.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before he raised his voice again. “I just did.”

“You consider that to be an apology?”

“I did say I was apologizing, did I not? Fine,” he sighed. “I am sorry.” Finally, she lifted her head to face him, and his voice grew quiet. “Truly, I am.”

“Thank you, Beastie.” He snorted derisively at the nickname, and yet there was a ghost of humor at the end. It almost made her smile as she leaned her head against the panes of the window, chilled by the snow outside, but her expression quickly fell as she shivered. “He must be alive. He must be, and I  _ will _ find him.”

“If he is alive, then why do you think he has not returned home, let alone sent word that he is?”

“I do not know,” she whispered, and the tears returned, glittering in her eyes as if ice. “Some days I wonder if my father never returned on purpose. I feel as if… he might have. I can think of no other reason why we would not have heard from him. If he had been captured, surely the king would have told us, and Father would have informed us himself if something else kept him away from us. I cannot help but think that perhaps he did not want to return. Did we fail, somehow?”

“Annette.” His voice was softer than she had yet heard it. “If anyone would leave you behind on purpose, then they are the ones who are unworthy, not you.” He nudged her gently with his great snout, and she raised her arm, allowing him to settle his head into the soft folds of her skirt with a sigh.

She was silent for a moment, and then, much to his surprise, let a charming laugh escape her lips. “I believe that is the nicest thing you have said to me yet, Beastie. You do have a heart after all!” 

“Hmph.” His head pushed against her hand as she stroked him, following each smooth motion until they both dozed off. Outside the wind howled and the snow stung with cold, but inside they were warm and comfortable, with Annette’s sweet hum lulling them to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe if Faerghus focused more on things like "therapy" and "mental health" and less on "chivalry" and "dying in glorious service to the king" as the main career path we wouldn't have these sorts of problems


End file.
